


Whumpa-palooza

by CrazyIndigoChild



Series: Voltron Weeks! [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: But easily ignorable, Gen, I'm hurting my babies, Slight hint at Sheith, WhumpWeek2k17, possibly graphic violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-16 10:50:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11827203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrazyIndigoChild/pseuds/CrazyIndigoChild
Summary: So my wonderful friends created Whump Week and I decided to contribute my bit. A bit late coming off the bus but I'm here and I'm ready to WHUMP (and cry)





	1. Day 4: Torture

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tanksquid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanksquid/gifts), [AppyNation](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppyNation/gifts).



> So all of these are out of order because I jumped in on Day 4 due to major craziness. I had to leave my skid marks on this whump-erful week.

He wonders what it would feel like if his heart stopped beating, whether he’d feel it or just… _go_. 

These were the thoughts that occupied Hunk’s mind in the short moments between torture and sleep. Well, unconsciousness if he were to give it a name. 

The aliens that had him strapped up to this upstanding surgery table were sons of bitches if nothing else— at least Hunk didn’t have a nicer word. Pidge was the go-to for insults. Her current favourite was ‘Douchebaguette’ but Shiro was especially fond of ‘Negaton’ though no one really knew what it meant. 

When the door opens again Hunk startles out of a daze. Wherever they had him either was off a planet or had a planet size too large to make a full rotation. Assuming there was a star close enough to—

One of the aliens, the smaller one, talks to him in a clipped, chirpy foreign language. His translator had searched 2,000 known languages and couldn’t find any even remotely close. Though to give it some credit it was over 10,000 years old. 10,000 years ago humans were too busy cracking nuts with rocks or something to care for language. Eventually it stopped and waited expectantly for Hunk to answer. “I’ve told you before: I can’t understand you.”

When it’s the other one’s turn to interrogate him, Hunk tries his damnedest to stare a hole right through where he thought his brain would be. Assuming they had even half of one to share between the pair. But Hunk did catch one word: Voltron. At first he’d responded, agreeing with them that he was of Voltron, but that’s as far as their conversation went. And that made them angry.

They were absolutely pissed when he stopped responding altogether. 

“Huh—AAH!” Through his left wrist a line of cold, gripping off-pain drew through his arm, curling around his chest and stomach and humming audibly through his spine before popping out his leg. It was a strange kind of pain where the biggest hurt was from the impossibly tight cramp and jerk of his muscles in ways they were probably never meant to go. 

Another current rocks through him and his mind goes white for a blinding second. 

Yelling.

Crying.

Tears. Down his face. Sound. His voice splitting. Smell… like cooking hotdogs. Flesh. His flesh. “O-oh God!”

When the grip around his chest eases and he can finally take a breath, it’s the most wonderful feeling. God he loves breathing so much. More than he loves not being surrounded by sadistic aliens while he’s half-naked and burning to a crisp.

There’s nothing. No way. It’s him and his body and them and theirs. Sadly theirs happens to be on the lever side of the deal. Now Hunk just has to hope that Lance shows up on the trigger side. He just hopes that he’s around to see these freaks with holes in their heads— real ones. 

He just hopes that the others find him in time. No. He *knows* that they will. After all the times he’s had those douchebaguettes’ backs.


	2. Day 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Keith has a couple misconceptions about how the universe works, and a few unhealthy coping mechanisms to match!

It’s all about control. Reading your opponent so you know when to duck under their blade, keeping their attention drawn so they can’t see your teammate leap in from behind, having a rescue plan in case someone goes missing. That’s what it was all about. 

They had saved Hunk within a day of him being taken— months of planning had gone off without a hitch. The whole thing had gone as well as it could have, considering the alternative. They got him back, they won! Then why does he feel like he’s been bested: spanked like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Because it’s Hunk.

Keith never cared about being hurt, never balked at the thought of going into a fight and dealing with whatever slipped past his rigorously trained guard. But Hunk wasn’t a fighter. He just wanted to survive in this crazy job he’d never asked for. And to find him in that dark, dingy room covered in burns and completely on the brink… Keith felt a kind of fear he’d never had before.

It’s all about control. Keith was being controlled by his fear.

They had made him scared.

So he takes control of himself and brushes past the healing pod, stepping over Lance who’s curled up on the ground around Pidge in a heap of pillows and blankets. 

Oh God, he can still see their empty eyes and half-shocked expressions. The other half, naturally, is dead. One from the edge of Keith’s blade, the other dotted and over-slain from Lance’s rifle. They’re dead so why aren’t they leaving him the hell alone?!

“Gah!”

It’s the shattered image of his face Keith first registers; not a weird thriller-style symbolic moment-of-truth fractured face, but the broken mirror kind. He can tell because his fist was still planted into it. Blood tricked over the backs of his fingers. For good measure he wriggles his hand around the jagged edges left behind.

Fuck them.

It’s all about control. Keith can’t stop anyone form trying to hurt him. Sometimes he can’t always stop a strike from landing. But if there was one enemy he could never strike down, never outrun, it was himself. 

Something warm and safe unfurled in his stomach as he slid his knuckles deeper into the mirror’s edge, opening him up more and letting the blood drain out in earnest. Relief soothes down his back as the muted pain begins up his arm.

And it was all his choice. He can’t stop anyone from trying to hurt him… but they had nothing over him, because he gave himself the control to hurt his body in so many more ways than they ever could. And he would just take it.


End file.
